


Bughouse Chess

by doomcanary



Series: The Pegasus Way [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderfuck, M/M, Polyamory, Unconventional Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-09
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 09:35:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1342630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doomcanary/pseuds/doomcanary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's still a girl, Lorne's <i>totally</i> fine with that, Rodney's pretty interested too, and Zelenka's being remarkably understanding - for now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“You are worried about something, Rodney.”

“Huh. It's that obvious?”

"I am getting better at reading your face. Not that it is ever hard.”

“Huh.”

“You are still worried about something.”

There's a long pause. Radek takes a sip of his coffee, waiting. The chess game sits forgotten between them; late afternoon sun throws long shadows across the board, and outlines Rodney's fidgeting hands in gold.

“Colonel Sheppard," he says. "The day before she – before he got hit by that device, he, well...”

Radek watches his face, waiting for him to finish; it's like watching the sky on a windy day, so many clouds and different shades of light, chasing each other across it.

"He propositioned me." Rodney says. He looks miserable about it; which surprises Radek, since his usual response to the slightest morsel of attention is to crow like a farm cockerel.

"And this is bad?" Radek says.

“I can't help thinking, what if I hadn't turned him down, would he still have gone in there, was he just sulking or something, running ahead of the rest of us? I feel like it was my fault he got changed.”

“I don't think so, _milacek_. He is a grown man, he makes his own mistakes. It is wonderful that you care, but the accident? Not your fault.”

Rodney sighs. “You really think so?”

“I do,” says Radek, and before Rodney can drag him into a downward spiral of neurosis and reassurance, he changes the subject. 

“But, I am interested," he says. "You turned the Colonel down, and yet yesterday you were looking at him like a starving man staring at a banquet.”

Rodney, caught out, gives Radek a helpless and shame-faced look.

“I think you are beginning to regret your decision,” says Radek, smiling. He loves to tease Rodney like this; when his eyes go wide like that, Radek could lose himself in the blue of them.

“He's, he's, you've seen him!" Rodney's hands flutter, standing in for the words he doesn't have. "He's gorgeous.”

“Better than he was as a man?”

“Well, yes. No. Kind of. But, I didn't say no because I didn't want him. I said no because of you.”

Radek's eyebrows shoot up.

Rodney looks shy, and awkward, and utterly endearing. “I told him I'd been with you a while, and you wanted monogamy. You said you liked things that way.”

Radek sits back a little, and gives Rodney a long slow look. 

“Rodney, I told you I prefer monogamy, yes,” he says, pushing his glasses up his nose, “but I do not _require_ it. You are a genius, in the lab you carry on fifty projects at once; why should one person be enough for you elsewhere?”

Rodney stares at him in astonishment for a moment. “You'd really – wait, you think I -? Hey!” he says, stopping himself in surprise. “You're not exactly stupid, _rysinko_. Sometimes you even keep up with me. I'm not settling for second best here." He slides his chair around the table, and enfolds Radek in a one-armed hug.

"Rodney, I am not second best," says Radek, amused. "I am chosen from my entire country to be part of this mission. My ego will not crumble to dust simply because I am not all things to all men."

"But, but, I don't want this to be one of those screwed-up things where you actually hate me being with other people but you feel like you have to do it or I'll leave. I won't.” Rodney stops, and then goes on, his arm still absently draped around Radek's shoulders. “Okay, I am colossally easy, I'll admit that, and I think with my dick, but after that whole stalker thing at college I kind of learnt that's not always a good idea. So -” he focuses again, and pokes Radek's arm for emphasis - “you'd better not be lying because you're hopelessly screwed up, or, or you have low self-esteem or something.”

Radek laughs. “I have been called a genius too, Rodney." 

Rodney smiles and leans his head against Radek's. He's learning not to argue, gradually.

“But, yeah,” he adds, a little wistfully, “Sheppard's hot, especially now.”

“Unlike you I am not bisexual,” counters Radek with a smile. “So my appreciation for Sheppard in female form is a little academic. But yes, originally, entirely fuckable.” He grins even though Rodney can't really see his face. “You should not have said no for my sake. I am willing to let your genius follow its own avenues of research.”

"Seriously?" Rodney twists and holds Radek away from him for a moment, searching his face for confirmation. Then he envelops the smaller man delightedly and plants a sloppy kiss on his mouth. “I love screwing geeks!” he declares.

 

***

 

Outside over the balcony, the stars of Pegasus are brilliant points in an infinite velvet sky. Inside Lorne's quarters, Evan and John are curled on the couch, John resting against Evan's chest and Evan's arms wrapped around him from behind. John sighs and rests his head against Evan's chin; Evan kisses his temple, and snuggles him a little closer in.

“So McKay was checking you out,” says Evan.

“You thought that too? I kinda wondered,” says John.  

“Well, you are pretty hot,” says Evan.

“Yeah. I'm not so bad,” says John, and there's a pleasing hint of smugness in his voice. Maybe Evan's campaign is working a little.

“Hey,”  he says, casually. “Maybe now you're a chick he'll rethink that whole sleeping with you thing.”

John cranes his head around to look at Evan, eyebrows raised. Evan gives him his best poker-faced, ambiguous smile. John looks at it with steadily increasing bewilderment.

"Aren't you supposed to be, y'know, threatening to punch him if he touches me?" he says. "I thought that was what guys did."

"Did you used to do that around women?"

"Well no, it's kind of a jarhead thing to say, it puts a girl right off of – oh."

"Oh," agrees Evan, smiling.

There's silence for a while, as John considers this insight.

"So, you're not saying I should keep away from him?" he asks eventually.

"I've been in open relationships before," says Lorne. "It's weird, but it's possible."

"Evan?"

"Yeah?"

"You're cool."

"Why thankyou, ma'am."

 

***

 

The next day, Rodney finds John lounging his way down a hall, heading towards the canteen. He lengthens his stride to catch up; John moves deceptively fast, despite the lazy sway of his hips.

“Col – er, John?” he says.

“Hey Rodney," says John, looking pleased. "What's up?”

"I was just wondering if you'd mind me joining you for lunch," he manages. 

"Sure," says John. "I heard it's spaghetti today."

It is indeed spaghetti, and Rodney's face falls when he sees it. Mentally he curses the commissary staff; spaghetti is his nemesis, and to say the least he's never been good at eating it with elegance. He need not have worried, as it turns out, since John tucks in to his plate with far more enthusiasm than style; the ends of his spaghetti strands flail and swing before vanishing with a slurp. As they snap towards their doom, droplets of bright orange sauce fly out, creating a spherical laundry hazard zone around John's plate.

"Something on your mind?" says John, between shovelfuls. Rodney is picking nervously at his food.

"Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you," he says. 

"Mmph ahmmph," says John through another mouthful, with an encouraging nod.

“I was talking to Radek last night and, well, I don't know if you're still, um, if you'd still be, now you're, ah... but, anyway, we talked about the whole monogamy thing."

"Uhuh," says John, swallowing; even nonplussed looks gorgeous on him. 

"And Radek said, he's actually okay if I see other people; I mean, really okay, not just oh-god-if-I-must okay. So, I was kind of wondering, um. I thought you looked really beautiful in his room yesterday, and I wanted to ask you if that offer you made me before was still open.”

"You mean loaning the Marines with natural ATA genes to the biology guys?"

"Y – er, no."

John's perfect forehead develops a tiny little crease, right between the eyes. 

"Have I forgotten something?" he says.

"You can just _forget_ things like that?" says Rodney in amazement.

"Like what?" says John.

"Like – like spending a whole month trying to hit on me!"

John's mouth forms an O of comprehension. "Oh, _that_ ," he says. "I haven't forgotten that." And suddenly there's a megawatt smile on his face, and Rodney himself has forgotten exactly what it was he was going to say next, even though John's lips are the tiniest little bit orange at the edges.

"As a matter of fact," says John, "I talked about it with Evan too. And he says he's been in open relationships before. So..."

"So, er, we should, er..."

"Hook up?" says John.

"Or date," says Rodney. "I mean, I wouldn't like you to think I don't respect you now that you're, ah,  I mean, that you, well. I wouldn't like you to think that, is all."

"I don't think that," says John. "So, how about Saturday afternoon?"

"Really? Er – I mean – of course," says Rodney, lighting up in turn. "Where should I pick you up?"

"Come over to 3-460," says John. 

Rodney is so delirious that a woman, especially one as gorgeous as John, has said yes to him that it doesn't even occur to him to wonder why he's meeting John at someone else's place till he's already halfway to Radek's lab to share the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Acknowledgements:** This episode is dedicated to [](http://atuinsails.livejournal.com/profile)[**atuinsails**](http://atuinsails.livejournal.com/) as a thankyou for nagging me at just the right moment.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So yeah. Here. Have boy porn. With, y'know, girl parts. Much kudos and many thanks to lili for correcting my Czech.

"Those are Major Lorne's quarters," says Radek, after a moment looking at the city map on his laptop. He turns, closing the screen, and says quietly, "Rodney..."

"What?" says Rodney. He recognises Radek's tone; it's the one that says _Something is going to blow up if we're not very, very careful. Now shut up while I work out what it is._ Rodney takes notice of that tone, because it's saved the lives of several of his people. Not that he couldn't have done it himself, of course, but - He stops himself, and listens to Radek.

"I am not quite sure," says Radek. "It is instinct, notthing more, but something does not quite seem right. These... _vícečetné vztahy_... every time I have seen it, I see that to be with more than one person at once is not easy. I do not want to see you hurt."

If they weren't in the middle of the lab, Rodney would envelop Radek in a hug. As it is, he puts his hand on Radek's upper arm, and gives him a serious look.

"I'm not going to lose you, am I?" he says. Radek smiles.

" _Ne_ , Rodney, of course not, unless you grow breasts like the Colonel; that is not what I mean. I just have a bad feeling; I do not see why you are going to meet Lorne as well as Sheppard. Promise me that you will keep caution in mind, _miláček_."

"Pessimist," says Rodney, but he promises anyway.  
  
***  
  
It's John who answers the door on Saturday, beaming at Rodney from above a plain black top and, oh dear lord, that horrendously distracting little green skirt.

"C'mon in," he says, flashing the megawatt smile again. Rodney hasn't seen a grin like that on John's face since he'd just been thrown off a balcony by it – and even then, surrounded by stubble and a subtly different face, the effect hadn't been quite the same. He realises he's still standing in the corridor, and steps inside.

"So, how are you?" he asks.

"I'm good," says John. "You want something cold?"

"That would be great," says Rodney. Despite the breezes that wander across the ocean, in among the spires of Atlantis summer days are still and warm. John goes to the desk and picks up a flask. The hands that unscrew the lid are smaller, more elegant; the flask is heavy, made of brushed steel, and makes them look tiny as they close around it. Rodney wonders why he still thinks of John as _he_.

“So I talked to Evan about what you said,” John says.

"Hey, McKay," says Lorne's voice casually, from somewhere to Rodney's right. 

“Oh,” says Rodney, turning to see a door that leads out to what looks like a balcony outside. He can just make out a pair of feet propped on a metal table. "Er, hi."

John chooses this moment to press a glass into Rodney's hand; it's iced coffee, when he looks down, but it's a testament to his state of distraction that before he takes a mouthful he throws a desperate glance at John and says in an undertone "I... er, I knew the two of you were, you know, together, but I didn't realise you meant, ah -”

"Hey Evan," yells Sheppard, grinning. "Rodney thinks we're trying to get him into a threesome."

Rodney cringes. The feet disappear, replaced by Lorne in the balcony doorway, carrying a glass of his own.

"Not my thing, Doc," he smiles, and sips his drink. Rodney feels himself blush all over his body, and starts to understand how fish feel when they're caught on a hook. 

"Um, I hate to seem tactless," he says, "but – I'm, uh, I wasn't expecting you to be here, Major. Has, ah, has anything changed since I spoke to John?"

“I'm fine with John seeing you,” says Lorne easily. It occurs to Rodney briefly that that easygoing attitude may be why he's XO to John, too. “We didn't ask you here to corrupt you, or to say no. I just like to get to know people I'm sharing with a little.”

And there it is; Radek was worrying about nothing after all. "Ah," he says happily, closes his mouth, takes a gulp of his coffee and smiles.

"Come outside," says John. "Evan has a balcony. It's great."

Lorne vanishes again and Rodney follows John, his eyes still on the swing of his hips under the stunning green of the skirt; he tears his eyes away as they make it out the door, but not before a voice in the back of his mind has started clamouring for attention. He ignores it determinedly, and sits down in the Ancient equivalent of a deckchair. Lorne's sitting more or less opposite him, and props his feet on the table again; John sits down next to him, crosses his legs (long, smooth, still just as golden as before; all present and correct, and also, yes please, says Rodney's mind) and leaves them trailing out to one side.

"So, how's Radek?" asks John. 

"Good," says Rodney. "Good."  
  
***

"All I'm saying," says Gibson, standing next to Jantz as they scan the scrubby undergrowth for movement, "is Weir was out of line."

"Weir's brass," says Jantz. "You don't get to argue with brass."

"Shep's ranking officer here, and he's saved Weir's ass more times'n I can count. Half of 'em before you got here, new boy. The siege, now, that was somethin' – when Shep busted us out and -"

"Yeah, yeah, you told me twenty times already."

"You just don't crap on a guy when he's down," Gibson insists. "Not after what Shep's done for the city."

Jantz falls silent. The old guard, the Marines who came through the siege, would just about walk through fire for Colonel Sheppard; and sometimes, Jantz thinks maybe he can see why. Shep doesn't seem to like that hardass Caldwell one bit, which is fine by him, and if scuttlebutt has any kind of truth in it at all he doesn't leave men behind either. Plus, Shep knows about both sides of the Smurf, and he's not above dropping in on the better one sometimes. Or even getting good and leathered once in a while; Jantz heard about Major Lorne hauling his drunk ass out of there a while back. He likes that in a CO. 

"The whole tits thing, that's a headfuck," he says in the end. "But fuck, man, it's Pegasus. You gotta roll with it. And Shep's riding us just as hard now as he did before. Harder, maybe."

"Shep don't let things slip," is all Gibson says.

"Hey ladies," bellows Sergeant Soderberg from the entrance to the low building behind. "Pick up your goddamn purses and shut your yap. Docs are done, move out."

***

Lorne's a good conversationalist, the teasing charm a perfect foil to John's sarcasm, and after a while Rodney relaxes a little.

"You know it sounds stupid, but I really didn't realise you and John were an item until, you know, I walked in on the fashion show," he says.

“What, you thought he was just a really attentive second in command?” says John, looking amused.

“I think of it as taking one for the team,” grins Lorne. 

“And I'm thinking of it as research. _Fun_ research,” says John, with a trademark smirk. 

"How long has it been, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Not that long after I, you know," says John, gesturing to himself. "Evan's been great." He shoots a goofy, self-conscious smile at Lorne; Rodney is instantly jealous, but crams a lid on it hard. He doesn't have to be Heightmeyer to spot that mistake.

“So, uh, how are things going for you two?” he asks, sipping his coffee again. It's good, cold and a little sweet.

“Pretty good,” answers John. “He saves my ass when I freak out about girl stuff and I let him go down on me.”

Rodney just about manages to avoid choking. John looks from his face to Lorne; Lorne quirks his eyebrows, his eyes flashing very blue in the low sun, and suddenly John forms a wicked grin. 

He leans forward conspiratorially. “You know what the best part is?”

Rodney shakes his head a little, wide-eyed. 

“I like it when he fucks me. I like cock, Rodney." 

All Rodney can manage is a little high-pitched sound, somewhere just past _oh_ , and not quite as far as _ah_. 

Lorne swings his feet off the table, tilts his chair back down, and joins them. "Every word's true," he says. 

John's devastating eyes stay fixed on Rodney's; his whole world narrows to them, John's sun-golden face, and the slow curve of his lips.

"I really like feeling a big hard dick inside me," John says. "I like to ride him while I finger my clit, and then have him turn me over and do me while I look up into his eyes.”

Rodney swallows hard, and shifts in his seat. His own eyes are enormous, and fixed on John.

“He's good,” says Lorne's voice softly. “He fucks like a champion, Rodney. You should hear him. Screams like a porn star, even before he comes. And he has,” Lorne is leaning in now, Rodney unconsciously matching him, “the tightest, hottest pussy I have ever been in. You do not want to miss this, Rodney, trust me.”

The attack continues. “You have big hands,” says John, cutting his eyes down at them. “I've been thinking about them. About them sliding over my breasts and pinching my nipples so they get hard. And then, I think about how they slip down between my legs, and feel how wet I am – because I get so wet, Rodney, you have no idea – and they start stroking my clit, and dipping inside of me, and I start to fuck your hand, because I just can't wait. I want to come like that, Rodney, I want your hands on me when I go over the edge.”

Rodney lets out a slow breath he didn't even know he'd been holding, and wets his lips. John watches the tip of his tongue, then sits slowly back. Lorne's right hand slips unobtrusively off the tabletop, and a moment later John's eyes narrow a little, and his lips part. 

Rodney remembers that nothing of a skirt he's wearing, the satin clinging to his ass, and suddenly that voice in the back of his mind that started up when he followed John out here makes itself heard loud and clear: there are no panty lines showing under John's skirt. _No panty lines at all_.

Suddenly he can't hold it in any more. He propels himself to his feet.

“I, uh, I really have to go talk about this with Radek before, uh. Yeah. I am _totally_ saying yes to this. I just have to... Tomorrow. Tomorrow night.”

“ _Go_ ,” mouths John silently, and even as Rodney turns he's sliding himself down in his chair, spreading his legs and turning his mouth to Evan's hungry kiss.

~~~

“ _Radku. Rysícek_. Jesus. Come here.”

Radek takes in Rodney's flushed face and reddened lips, and does just that. Rodney spins them round and shoves him hard against the wall, tongue filling Radek's mouth with a wild aggression. His abandon lifts Radek half off his feet; Radek is instantly hard.

“I am going to fuck you so hard,” gasps Rodney against his mouth. “Oh, God, I can't believe what a fucking little slut Sheppard is, god, I want you to watch us together, Radek –"

Radek cuts off the flow of words with a fierce kiss, taking Rodney's face in his hands. His glasses are crushed against his nose, but he really doesn't care; he's never seen Rodney like this. Rodney is a creature of mind, not of body; he's not this testosterone and animal will. Radek fights back, hard, grinding into Rodney's hardness with his own, half in pleasure and half trying to force them away from the wall. It works; Rodney pulls back abruptly, looks at him with huge blue eyes.

"Get down and suck me," he says, and grips Radek's shoulders, forcing him towards the ground. Radek's hands are quicker than his mind, scrabbling for the zipper as a haze of desire washes over him; and then Rodney's thick cock is in his hand, and he pulls off his glasses and throws them aside as he swallows it down. Heat and fullness in his mouth, the salt-sharp taste of the wetness that gleamed on its tip; and Rodney above him, making throaty sounds.

"Oh yes, like that, just like that, jesus yes, suck me," says Rodney, a high half-whisper that means he doesn't really know he's speaking. His hands are in Radek's hair, huge, his hips flexing, shallow thrusts that grow steadily deeper as Radek works his mouth around the heavy shaft. Rodney's pants are open now, and the faint scent of musk that hangs around his balls is growing rapidly, intoxicating. Radek feels his own cock, almost painfully constricted by his pants; he shifts on his knees, sending a jolt of pleasure through himself as the pressure slips a little.

"Radek," says Rodney at last, pulling away, holding Radek back with those immense hands. "Get on the bed, I want you, go, now, _now_!”

Radek tears off his shirt before he's even on his feet, and looks up for a moment into sea-blue eyes alien with lust. The sliver of apprehension in his belly just adds to the power of it. Pants, boots, everything is tugged off and thrown haphazardly aside; Rodney bears him down with his weight, fits his cock against Radek's ass, and thrusts against him, even as their hands collide on the handle of the nightstand drawer. Radek lets Rodney's fingers guide him, pulling open the drawer, reaching inside for the lube; and then Rodney's weight is gone, and Radek feels another thick wave of sensation wash over him as two slick fingers press down towards his hole. He's more than ready, bucks against Rodney's hand, asking for more; fingers slide in, become three, and he gasps and pushes back hard. 

"Oh yeah," says Rodney, and the fingers slide away, and in their place comes the slick, wide head of Rodney's cock.

~~~

  
John is hanging on to the table with one hand, his other leg over Lorne's shoulder; Evan is buried in his pussy, thrusting his tongue into the musky depths of his cunt then tonguing his swollen clit so that he moans and rolls his head. Evan's tongue is like lightning down there, making him tingle wherever it moves, but it's not enough inside him; his body is clenching down on nothing but his own wetness, and he wants more.

"Fuck me, Evan," he says, taking hold of Evan's hair. "Come on, baby, give me some cock, come up here and fuck me."

Evan comes up like the tide, inexorable. "Oh, I'll fuck you," he says, giving John a look that makes his stomach flip; it's animal. "My way. Over the table, bitch."

And John gets no choice, even if he'd wanted one; Evan takes him by the shoulder and throws him forward so hard the little table rocks. The metal screams against his skin, so cold he gasps, then he chokes and gasps again as Evan fills his body with cock. He's delirious with desire, spreads his legs as wide as they'll go and arches up into every stroke, so close to coming it's unbearable; but Evan holds his arms down flat, won't let him touch himself, keeps him hanging on the edge as he takes his fill.

~~~

Radek is breathing hard, on a knife-edge between control and breaking open; Rodney is pounding into him, every stroke hitting him just so and sending brittle pleasure shooting up his spine. There are no words now, just little sounds; he's close, so close, Radek just has to hang on – he tightens his ass, a little, just a very little, and Rodney wails and his rhythm stutters. Then he crams Radek against him, one hand around his belly, and in four mighty strokes he shudders, and his cock pulses heavily deep inside.

"Oh god," he says, as if coming broke down the dam of words as well as semen. "Radek, oh god, you're so, oh, Radek, god." He buries his face in Radek's shoulder, shaking from the force of his release; and Radek keeps breathing, slowly feeling the tension fade from his body, the bright heat of approaching orgasm fading away.

"Rodney," he says softly, and when he feels his lover move, reacting, he guides Rodney's hand down to his cock, still hard. It strains upwards at the touch; he refuses to let himself move. He's not finished yet.

"Oh," says Rodney. "Oh no. Please no. I feel like butter, I can't take anything else."

"You only complain to make thrill," says Radek roughly, his English deserting him. "Is my turn, _coura_." 

~~~

John is tumbling on a flood-tide of pleasure and need, helpless in the current of himself. Dimly, he feels Evan's fingers biting into his shoulder, Evan's weight pressing him down hard; in a parallel dimension, maybe, Evan's breath is harsh and ragged in his ears.

But then he stops; his head drops against John's shoulder, and John feels a shake in his arms. 

"John," Evan says, and he sounds as if he's drowning in the same tide too, as if he's trying to pull himself back. "John."

He's not still, he's moving in tiny thrusts, involuntary; but his hand, holding John's hand down, lets go. John makes a wordless noise, half insane with pleasure; he spreads his free hand on the table and pushes pleadingly back against Evan's cock. 

Evan feels it, feels living heat move on his cock and groans; he's losing himself, losing control, and he breathes in John's skin like it'll anchor him. Like he's a jumper and John is Atlantis, guiding him home. He finds John's hand again, laces their fingers together this time; and kisses John's neck as he starts to move again, slower, gentler.

But John's a long way gone. He's bucking under Evan, looking for more. "I wanna come," he says. "I'm so close, Evan, baby, make me come."

And it's perfect; it's what he needs. A course to fly, a reason to keep hold.

"Yeah," he says, hearing his own voice rough and strained. "Yeah, I can do that."

Evan peels John off the table, hands under his shoulders, and hauls them both back into his chair; John makes an _ah_ sound as they sit, the jolt driving Evan's cock further in. Evan sits there frozen for a moment, breathing hard; it's too good. Then he pulls John back against his chest, parting those endless legs and sliding a hand around to finger the sticky, swollen clit between them.

"C'mon, honey girl," he says. "Give it up for me."

And John braces his feet on the floor, arches back against Evan; his hips move in tight arcs, pushing his clit against Evan's fingers even as he drives himself onto his cock; he's close already, tightening more, and Evan can't help but thrust in hard, working himself against it. John is heat and slide and the smell of wide open pussy and he's rising fast, control or no, as John curses and fucks his hand. Words fall on Evan's ears like waves, pushing him upwards, drawing him back.

"Evan – gonna come – harder, baby, harder, fuck me, make me," John says. "God I'm gonna come, I'm gonna, I'm-" 

And then Evan is whiting out in unbelievable bliss as John's body bites down like a trap and breaks him completely; pleasure cannons into him like a truck, sends him hurtling over the cliff, locked together with John in a yin-yang of ecstasy and sweat.  
  
~~~

Rodney is curled incongruously into Radek's side, snuggling in as if he's a kitten; alas, if Rodney is a kitten he's the spawn of some kind of giant Pegasus tiger, and his broad chest half engulfs his wiry little lover. Radek is unfazed, however; he has an arm wound around Rodney's shoulders, and a feline look of satisfaction on his face.

"I hate you," Rodney says, in a mazy, sing-song tone; the voice of one who is utterly, utterly high. "I can't walk any more. The whole city is going to fall apart because you just turned its chief scientist into a vegetable. I hope you understand the enormity of what you've just done."

Radek smiles, and kisses Rodney's thinning hair. " _Taky tě miluji, zelinek_ ," he says. "And if this is what I get, you may abuse John Sheppard in any way you choose. I am going to enjoy this affair of yours.”

"I wonder what it's going to be like when I've actually touched him?" says Rodney, just as hazily; and suddenly Radek's satisfaction is gone, replaced by the chilly wariness of before.

"So tell me," he says, with deliberate casualness, "what did happen with John this afternoon?"  
  
  
  


  
_vícečetné vztahy_ lit. 'aggregate relationships'  
_coura_ slut, tart  
_Taky tě miluji, zelinek_ I love you too, my little cabbage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got the rating wrong first time out. It's adult. You get what I mean. And right now I am *so* glad to be posting this because I've just watched "Sunday" for the first time, and I am  _imminently about to die_ of SO MUCH FUCKING HET.  Not to mention the fact that there is clearly a rift in the space-time omniverse created by the implosion of 35,000 pairs of knickers at the sight of Kavan Smith's Shep hair in the episode before, and the resulting influx of top and bottom bisextrons has caused the SGA writers to get BADFIC BLEEDING INTO THEIR BRAINS. Exploding frigging--? In canon? You what? Man, I thought Torchwood had it bad!


	3. Chapter 3

**From:** zelenka@physics.atl  
 **To:** e.lorne@atlantis.gov  
 **Subject:** Wednesday  
  
Dear Major,  
  
I understand from Rodney that you are interested in knowing more about our current shared project. Perhaps you would like to talk over a drink in the Smurf, on Wednesday evening, say?  
  
Yours,  
Radek Zelenka  
  
 **From:** Major Evan Lorne  <e.lorne@atlantis.gov>  
 **To:** zelenka@physics.atl  
 **Subject:** Re: Wednesday  
  
Dr Zelenka,  
  
An excellent idea. I was going to suggest something similar myself. I'll join you in the Smurf at ATT 2200.  
  
Lorne  
  
 **From:** logbot_noreply@physics.atl  
 **To:** rodney@physics.atl, zelenka@physics.atl  
 **Subject:** Power log ATT 16:47:32: Significant event  
  
Excerpt from system log follows

### Power usage: Log event exceeds configured threshold: Spike detected  
### Location: sector 4 grid 16: Levels 3-6  
### Timecode: ATT 4562 12 Septuus 16:47:32 [UTC Aug 4 2006 21:47pm]  
### Max usage: 460 (136% of mean)  
  
  
***  
  
Rodney connects up a crocodile clip to the central crystal in the door control, and taps at his pad, muttering to himself. The top of the southwest tower is effectively off limits; the door is stuck. All the outer doors of the city are actually airlocks, way more serious than the internal ones despite deceptively elegant design; and this particular door has minor damage to the control mechanism too. The only ways to get through it are brute force, or engineering skills. 

"Ha!" says Rodney, satisfied. The door slides open with a faint, protesting grate.

Or, of course, you can be the strongest ATA gene in the city, and force an override. Propped up on his elbows, long legs stretched out on a checkered Athosian rug, is Sheppard, gazing out at the sunset. A bottle waits beside the blanket, condensation trickling down its sides. Rodney feels a burst of irritation at the cocky flyboy-ness of it; but then John turns his head and smiles, and the light of the setting sun catches his hair and outlines a rounded cheek and full lips. Rodney's perception shifts; John's a woman. That's right.

John's a woman, and this is a date.

"Oh!" says Rodney. "Nonono, I can't have got it wrong, I checked three times. We were supposed to meet at half past. We were, right?"

"Does it matter?" John falls back onto the rug, smiling at Rodney upside-down. It's remarkably cute, considering the amount of cleavage it reveals. "Surprise."  
  
***

Lorne tugs his good shirt straight in front of the mirror, and checks his hair. Obscurely, he feels as if he's about to go in front of Caldwell or Landry for a dressing-down, not meet one of Atlantis's science team for a friendly drink. 

"Stupid," he says to his reflection. "Zelenka just wants to know what's going on." He owes the guy, after all; messing with Rodney's head like that was a lot of fun, but it was _this_ close to being way, way out of line. Evan's still not quite sure why he let it happen at all; John's wild, but nobody flies that far alone.

Evan pulls himself together, straightening his shoulders out; Major Lorne, USAF, walks out of the door.  
  
***

John gets up as Rodney comes over, the quiet groan of the door sliding shut again much like the sound Rodney would like to make himself. Today it's the never-ending legs, in a pair of tight black pants; and the low-cut top that looks exactly the colour of the taste of chocolate on his tongue. The hills and valleys of soft skin it reveals are worthy of a great painter, a landscape of touch unexplored.

"I brought food," says John, way, way into Rodney's personal space, with that casual, mocking smile.

"Um. So did I." Rodney tears his eyes away and lifts his backpack, embarrassed.

"Cool!" says John, and the moment is gone. "What have you got?"

They have Athosian strawberries, the last of the crop, fat and almost bursting with their own juice; John has bread, a rough loaf split open and spread with butter so yellow it almost looks like jam, and miraculously, Cheetos. Rodney unpacks cold chicken, and a crinkling parcel of foil that opens to release the rich smell of brownies. Not the regulation, anaemic cocoa powder things; these are gooey, dark and thick.

"How did you get those?" asks John, wide-eyed; Rodney hasn't forgotten how John looks when she eats desserts these days, oh no. He thought they'd be a hit.

"A little ducking and diving. And some very special favours to a friend in the kitchen." He'd given up a bar from his own personal chocolate stash for these; they'd better be good, but Lavoisier used to be a pastry chef, so he's pretty sure. 

John looks at him slyly. "Rodney," she says. "You've been holding out on me. Here I thought the only diving you did was under fire."

Rodney tilts up his chin, just a little, smiling. "There's a lot more to my genius than meets the eye," he says. At that John's eyes go wide all over again. And Rodney gets it: John doesn't know how much has changed since he's been with Radek. John's not used to him confident, making light of his own quirks and faults. He holds John's startled eyes, and thinks that for someone who spends a lot of time with Rodney, crashing out in tents, running from hails of bullets, and just generally shooting the shit, John can be pretty dense.

"Want a strawberry?" Rodney says, and holds one up.

"Food first," says John, smiling; she takes the purple berry, fingers lingering on Rodney's, and pops it into her mouth. "We can play with the leftovers later."  
  
***

"Doctor Zelenka," says Lorne, arriving at the table with empty hands. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Radek, please," says the little Czech in his musical accent. "And I will pass, for now; perhaps when I have finished this." He gestures with a half-full beer.

"Excuse me a moment," says Lorne, and goes to the bar.

Across the counter from him is a long low opening in the wall, partly obscured by bottles and kegs of various Pegasus brews that are ranged along it. Over the stoppers, Lorne can just make out a swirl of smoke, and faces crowding towards another bar. That's the other Smurf, the enlisted bar; somewhere he doesn't go unless invited, where the Marines can blow off steam without being overheard. There's some kind of funky Atlantis sound shield between the two; the window isn't glass, but only a subdued murmur comes through. Evan orders a beer, and makes his way back to the table near the wall.  
  
***

The enlisted bar is so crowded the climate control can't cope, so Gibson shoulders his way to the far corner of the room through a press of bodies and air so thick he could practically punch it. Stanislasky got out of the infirmary today, and his buddies – pretty much everyone who's not on duty – are giving him a rousing welcome home. Stan himself is already red-faced and sweating, grinning at everyone who comes near; Gibson claps the guy on the shoulder, says "Hey, welcome back," and filters away. Word is he was nine parts dead when they brought him through the gate; it's been weeks, and he's still not the guy he was. Active duty is a ways off, Gibson thinks.

At their usual table in the corner, Jantz and Bell are already there. Bell shoves a beer in his direction, the bottle sweating in the fuggy room just like Stan.

"Thanks, buddy," says Gibson, and raises it to them. They nod, and raise their own. 

***

  
Lorne sits down opposite Zelenka – Radek – and takes a long pull at his beer.

"I am pleased you were willing to come," says Radek, as he puts it down. "These things are complicated, and Iwould not like to see something go wrong."

Lorne clears his throat. "Look, ah, Radek," he says, "About yesterday; I owe you an apology, I think."

"I do not think any harm was done," says Zelenka, but he's watching Lorne with bright pale eyes behind his glasses. And oh yeah, that's what makes Lorne nervous about him, right there; he's just as smart as McKay, but less innocent, and a long way more controlled. If McKay went postal the entire city would hear him coming before he even got a weapon in his hand; but Lorne thinks Zelenka would be a pretty good candidate for the "hard to kill" award.

"Either way," says Lorne, willing his back to relax, and his right hand to stop itching for a sidearm that's not there. "It was a bad call this early in a... project as complex as this. I won't be getting that involved again unless I'm asked."

Zelenka looks at him for another long moment, and nods. "I am sure the Colonel and Rodney will have matters well in hand," he says. 

"I'm sure they will," Lorne says, and he's just about to make some bland remark about Sheppard's competence when he catches the twinkle in those icy-coloured eyes, and realises Zelenka's teasing him. He lets it ride for just a moment, and then says deadpan, "According to my brief, Doctor McKay's very skilled with his hands."

Radek lifts his drink, watching Evan with a little smile; then he sits back, tips it forward, and the smile widens.

"Your good health, Major Lorne," he says.

"Call me Evan," says Lorne, toasting Radek in turn. Ice broken, he thinks; Atlantis military, one.

***

John and Rodney are licking their fingers and sipping wine, the rug between them scattered with crumbs. The brownies still lie untouched in their foil; Rodney's not going to miss watching John eat those for the world. He's amazed; it's so easy, sitting here with a beautiful girl, because she's John too, and they're just talking, the way he and John have always talked.

"So who's your special friend?" says John, mock-jealous, catching Rodney looking lovingly at the little cakes. 

"The French guy, Lavoisier," he says. "He's not technically on the kitchen staff, but he's so good they never fight him when he asks."

"I thought he was Canuck?" asks John.

"No, he just worked in Quebec for a while, at UQAM," says Rodney. "He makes delicious poutine, that's how I got to know him. Radek's never liked him, though; I can't work out why not."

"You're kidding, right?" says John, sitting up a little. 

Rodney looks blank.

"Radek's Czech," says John, astounded. "The French sold Czechoslovakia out to the Nazis, in World War Two. It's a huge thing for them."

"Oh my God," said Rodney. "I never knew, he never said a word... wait, how did you know that?"

"I read up on the nations who were at McMurdo when I was there."

"I wouldn't have thought of you as a history person."

"I'm not."

"But you read up anyway?"

"McMurdo," says John, with an expressive shrug.

Rodney grimaces sympathetically. While he'd been in Antarctica himself there'd been a power glitch during a five-day ice storm: they'd spent four of those days running on half capacity, which meant heat and light, but no IT and so no work. There'd been a contest to invent the best new word for 'bored'.

"And it's kinda my job, I guess," John adds thoughtfully. "Y'know, war and stuff."

"What about _War and Peace_?" says Rodney.

"I was saving that," says John. He pauses. "You know what sucked worst about McMurdo?"

"What?"

John picks up the last of the Athosian strawberries and smiles. "There were no cute scientists to distract me from my job."

Rodney looks at John, and then reaches gently down to take the berry. And this thought, yes, this makes him a little tense; there's that familiar little flutter in his gut, the one he's always known when he thinks _pretty girl_ and _anywhere near me_. But John came here early, and she brought wine, and food, and a blanket; he reaches for the comfort of his old, familiar fears, and they slip between his fingers like snowstorm ghosts. John came here for him. There's no other way it can be.

"I seem to recall spending some time in Antarctica," he says, cocking his head a little, and smiling into John's eyes. "In fact, I seem to recall a certain scruffy Air Force major who met me there."

John lifts Rodney's hand to her lips, and delicately bites the berry off its stem; she folds it into her mouth, and kisses the tips of Rodney's fingers one by one. Rodney's skin tingles under the touch; when John looks up, lazily chewing the little fruit, he feels a jolt through his whole body at the sight of those eyes, lit up by the setting sun.

"That was different," John says softly, and tilts up her perfect face. Rodney meets her in a gentle, gentle kiss.

***

Lorne loosens up a little as his beer sinks in, more out of habit than because it hits him much. Zelenka speaks remarkably good English, and chats about Pegasus food and the city-wide Athosian cricket league just as easily as he discusses the finer points of wormhole theory and interdimensional physics. As good as his word, Lorne buys the second round; the third is Zelenka's, and arrives in two bottles and a pair of disturbingly tiny shots.

"Stolichnaya," says Zelenka. "Best vodka on the base; you people know nothing about drink. _Na zdraví_." He downs it, and Lorne follows suit. It really isn't bad, and it gives Evan decidedly more of a buzz than a simple beer. He decides it's time to work on a little more trust.

“So, your boyfriend and my girlfriend,” he says, with a raised eyebrow and a devil-made-me-do-it smile.

“I believe we have unleashed some terrible beast,” replies Radek, deadpan. 

“The only terrible thing will be watching them trying to talk,” Evan predicts.

That, of course, is the moment when Sergeant Chavez runs in, zeroes in on Lorne like an air-to-ground missile and barrels up to the table, throwing off a desperate salute.

"Trouble in the enlisted bar, sir," he says. "It's big."

***

Jantz is feeling pretty relaxed by the time he's sunk a few beers; Gibson is lounging back in his chair and cracking dirty jokes, and even Julius Bell is looming a little less than he usually does. The noise level in the bar is deafening even without the usual accompaniment of muzak; Stan and one of his buddies are standing on the pool table, racing each other to down liter jars of kawoosh, half the room is chanting "Down! Down!" around them, and the crowd is thickening still further as the rest of the off shift fights its way in towards the bar. 

All in all, then, Jantz is pretty surprised that Gibson hears what the guy at the next table over says at all, let alone well enough to make out words. But somehow or other he does, and then he's turning round in his seat in that slow way he has when he's pissed, and tapping the guy on the shoulder.

"Beg your pardon, buddy?" he says quietly.

The guy is one of the latest bunch of recruits; Caldwell's boys, pretty much. Not much time at the SGC before shipping out, and it shows; they don't deal well with Pegasus life. SGA-12 damn near started a war on Deria after two of the new boys replaced Stanislasky and Williams, and three more of them have already been shipped back home. They walk through the Gate like they think they own the galaxy, and the goddamn Wraith have been too quiet the last few weeks to teach them they don't. Shep's crew, Jantz and the old guard, don't like them and don't mix with them; that kind of arrogance is bad luck around the Wraith.

"I said I ain't got no time for bein' pussy-whipped," says the guy, louder than before. He looks drunk – not nearly as drunk as Stan, but pretty well oiled. A little pool of silence is starting to form around them, as people sense the tension; it could go either way.

"Sounds to me like you're insultin' the Colonel," says Bell.

"That ain't no Colonel," says the guy. "You seen that ass?"

"Drop it, buddy," says Jantz. "You weren't here to see what Shep's done for this place."

"I ain't takin' orders from no zoomie bitch, is what I ain't."

Gibson slowly rises to his feet. Jantz and Bell follow suit; they were on SG-9 with Gibson back on Earth, and old habits die hard. Their chairs scrape in unison, and the whole room goes still; there's only one thing that sound means, in a bar like this.

"You wanna take that back?" says Gibson. 

The asshole and his friends stand up in turn, and Jantz can practically feel the situation sliding out of control. The whole room is watching them now, even Stan, swaying on the table; and the crowd's a fifty-fifty mix of Shep's boys and Caldwell's. 

Asshole guy looks Gibson over coldly.

"Kissin' zoomie ass and eatin' zoomie pussy too," he says. "I ain't got nothing to say."

Gibson throws the first punch, and it all goes to hell from there.

***

Lorne arrives outside the other Smurf at a run, to find Cadman and a team of Marines up to their necks. The bar room is one huge brawl, and the door is so narrow and so packed with moving backs they can't muscle their way in. As he comes up to them, two of the Marines haul one of the grunts bodily out of the door, and Cadman is instantly right in his face, screaming at him to stand the fuck down and get a grip on himself. He comes back to himself with a snap, and Cadman harries him over to the wall, where he joins a line of three other Marines, standing to terrified attention.

"Got the call a few minutes ago, sir," she says, her face tight. "It's a riot in there."

"Sidearm," says Lorne. Cadman unholsters the pistol and hands it over without a word. Lorne aims over the heads of the crowd, up at one of the tall windows, and fires.

Military instincts serve well;  the moment the gun goes off, everyone in the doorway dives headlong for the ground. Suddenly there's a clear path into the room, and Lorne strides in like the wrath of God in a civvy shirt, Cadman and the duty squad fanning out behind. The men are suddenly scrambling to their feet and coming haphazardly to attention, faces betraying just how deep in the shit they know they are. Lorne turns in a slow circle, taking in each and every face.

"I do not need to tell you just how fucked you have chosen to become," spits Lorne, so furious he feels about four times his usual size. "You are a disgrace to the Marine Corps and an embarrassment to this base. Every man in this room is confined to quarters as of now, and you will _all_ report for discipline at 0600 hours. Cadman, names; Leitz, Chavez, get these men in order and get them out of my sight." 

Chavez and Leitz are instantly screaming at the marines in their best parade-ground voices, and Lorne folds his arms and watches grimly as the mob around him gradually become soldiers again. Some are swaying as they try to stand in line – and what the hell is Stanislasky doing here? - but most are pretty with-it. Some look stone cold sober, Bell for one, and Lorne begins to realise just exactly what's going on. The worst cut up among them fall into two groups: Sheppard's hardcore, the Marines who came through the siege, and the troublemakers among the recent reinforcements. The rookies are a bad barrel if ever there was one; arrogant, stupid and loyal to what they understand. This isn't just a bar brawl; those get broken up by whoever's sober at the time. This is about chain of command.

The last few khaki-clad backs disappear in a column through the door; Cadman jogs up to him and throws a salute. 

"Assholes clear, sir," she says.

"Good work, Lieutenant. Shame you had to do it. Get Colonel Sheppard on the radio," says Lorne.

Cadman presses her lips together and shakes her head. "Can't reach him, sir. First thing I tried."

And that really, really doesn't make Evan happy. That, of all things, is the worst possible omen for the situation here, and the last thing he would ever expect from John Sheppard as his CO.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little light relief.

John is licking Rodney's fingers clean, golden throat arched back and eyes closed; Rodney makes a little moaning sound, the sight and sensation between them almost too much. 

"Oh yeah," breathes John. "More."

Rodney pulls off another piece of the brownie, and holds it up. John bites at it playfully, and sticky crumbs come away; Rodney watches them fall into the neckline of John's top. How awful; he'll have to go look for those. Right after he's finished whiting out again.

"So-" he begins, then stops, and clears his throat. "So it's good?"

John opens her eyes. 

"See for yourself," she says, pushes him down on the rug and kisses him again. Soft lips, a sly little tongue, and the taste of chocolate fill his mind; he wraps his arms around John's waist, and john slips one knee between his legs, rubbing against his cock, and pushing a very, very distracting warmth against his thigh. His hand slides to her ass, pulls her closer against him; she makes a sound of approval in her throat, and lazily works her hips. Rodney doesn't feel any urge to rush; the whole molasses slowness of the thing just makes it better somehow. He wanted John even before he was a woman; but John's right, it is different now, now that her name means curves and lazy sensuality instead of lines and planes and a spiky aggression under the charm. It's fascinating; this John could almost be a different person, and yet he doesn't want her any less.

"You know what's weird?" he says.

John pulls back and gives him the 'Rodney's off on one' face. 

"I'm a girl," she says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Rodney opens his mouth to share his insight, and then realises that actually, it is that obvious.

"You know what? Never mind."

John is leaning down to kiss him again when they hear a shot, echoing up from below.  
  
***

"Radek," says Lorne, coming back to the table in the more salubrious Smurf, "I need a favour."

"Is everything all right, Major?"

Lorne just looks at him evenly. Radek downs the rest of his drink, and stands up.

A few minutes later they're in the control tower. Lorne dismisses the gate tech, and Radek sets to work.

"Colonel Sheppard's radio is in his quarters," he says quietly, after a moment's search. Lorne glances at him, and without his saying a word Zelenka nods, and taps something else on the keyboard.

"Rodney's is not," he says. "In fact it is... on the top of the southwest tower. The one with the broken door."

Evan blinks, then understands. The most strategically inaccessible location in the city, except for the two best people in it. Classy. He'd laugh, if he wasn't so disturbed by John leaving his fucking _radio_ behind.

"I hate to do this," he says, "but there's been a disciplinary problem, and John's going to have to handle this one himself. We're going to have to break up the party."

"Rodney has switched his headset off," says Radek, staring at a window of text on the screen. "We will have to go in person."

"That would be for the best," says Lorne.  
  
***

As the shot rings out, John and Rodney both go still. Nothing follows it, for long minutes, and Rodney feels John's body slowly relax.

"Shouldn't you be doing something about that?" says Rodney.

"Lorne can handle it," says John. 

"Yes, but shouldn't you check in just to make sure he's OK?"

"I'm off duty, Rodney," says John. "And besides, I left my radio in my quarters. I didn't want any interruptions."

"I've got mine," says Rodney, scrabbling at his pocket. John's hand closes on his forearm, still strong despite its delicate looks.

"Forget it," she says. "Lorne's in charge. He can handle it."  
  
***

"This is worse than I thought," says Zelenka, poking at his pad while the door crystals glow serenely blue-white. 

"Problem, Doc?" says Lorne.

"Rodney has added an encoded override. Not only do I have to overload the door control software to make it even attempt to open the door, I also have to know the passcode. It could take hours."

"We don't have hours," says Lorne. "Time for plan B."

"What is that?" says Zelenka. "Bang on it and shout?"

"Close," says Lorne, and grins.

***

Rodney's a genius, but like Radek says, part of being brilliant is knowing your limitations. He's easy, and easily distracted, and John rubbing herself against him like a cat takes, oh, about ten seconds to work. He gives a little groan, somewhere between arousal and defeat, and slides his hands down John's lithe back, settling them possessively on her ass. It helps that he's hard, of course, and has been since before they even heard – John rolls her hips, squeezing his cock against her body, and he feels it right down to his feet. He can't bring himself to care what they heard. Instinctively he rolls them over, and his mouth dives into John's neck, trailing kisses down to her collarbones, her chest; her neck is warm, but the exposed skin in her neckline feels cool against his lips. His cock twitches at the change of sensation. Suddenly he hits cloth, and pulls back; irritatedly he examines the lacings, looking for the tie. John smiles, and tucks a finger into the bottom of the neckline, pulling it out again with a fine black cord hooked around it.

Rodney reaches for it, but she slaps his hand away and the smile widens.

"Oh, you teasing little -" 

John tugs at the cord, and the knot slips, slowly. It sticks; the tension tightens, tugging at his top and drawing Rodney with it like a fish on a line. With a little jerk it looses, and Rodney's cock throbs as the neck of the top relaxes. Rodney lifts his finger, gently unlacing John's neckline, freeing a new expanse of her golden skin. He slides a finger beneath the edge of the top; vision disappears, and he focuses on the touch. Warmth, the slick fabric and smooth skin; his fingers slide over the tight little nub of a nipple, and John makes a little breathy sound. He slides his whole hand in, cups her breast and strokes it again, and she arches into the touch. 

John, for his part, is loving this. Rodney's a whole different shape to Evan; broader, heavier, softer to touch. He's busy and inquisitive where Evan's all lazy confidence; and he's wildly sensual, throws himself into John's body like jumping into a lake. His hands are the scouts, checking John out with tingling little touches like he's an Ancient device; Rodney's calibrating him carefully, testing him out. Cool air follows his hands, curling around John's breast like different, ghostly fingers; then just when he's thinking about maybe getting gooseflesh, the strike team moves in. Rodney's mouth closes warm over his nipple, on a mission to make John shiver and push himself against one of those broad thighs. Rodney tenses, keeping his balance, and it hits John's thrust just right; a little peak of pleasure in the slow, rolling waves.  
He opens his shirt like it's all for Rodney, and it so, so isn't. Those warm hands start scouting him out inderneath it, and it's only a moment before he finds John's nipple, sending a burst of sensation through him; John feels the cock pressing into his belly jerk. When Rodney's mouth hits his tit, John's head rolls without him asking it to; slick tongue and the cool night air on the wet trail it leaves make his nipple harden like a little nut. Rodney takes that nut gently between his teeth, and that's a whole new thing again.

John would say something, but he's not far gone enough to have forgotten how impatient Rodney is, and sure enough he doesn't stop there; his hands push up John's shirt, and Operation Smartmouth is on the move again. Rodney breaks new territory down over his belly, and John can feel his whole body warming, relaxing, moulding itself around the guy; doing that girl thing it does. It never used to happen when he was a guy himself, and it still doesn't happen all the time with Evan; most often when they're lying in the afterglow, or curled up on the couch. He thinks he likes it this way, as the start of a long slow build.

Rodney's hand is on the fastening of John's pants; he looks up, and John flushes at the sight of him, eyes dark and crooked mouth red.

"Yeah," John says. And his waistband loosens, and Rodney's mouth touches sweet warm flesh; and John hears him moan as he looks for the edge of panties, and doesn't find them. It's a trick that never seems to get old for guys.

Behind Rodney's shoulder, a disembodied voice clears its throat. 

Rodney's back stiffens, and he sits up and looks around. John cranes his neck, trying to see past Rodney's bulk. 

"Hello?" says Rodney. The air shimmers, and then they're looking up at a jumper, nose down towards the tower top: hanging like a wayward metal raindrop in the air. In the front port, John can make out Zelenka, crimson and looking anywhere but at them, and Lorne. Taking advantage of Rodney's body, he fastens his pants with one hand. Rodney wriggles off him like a schoolkid caught out, going as red as his boyfriend already is.

"Way to cockblock, Evan," John says, folding his arms, exposed cleavage and all.

"Wait," says Rodney, suddenly focusing. "Puddlejumpers have external speakers? Why didn't I know?"

***

As it turns out, puddlejumpers do not in fact have external speakers; Zelenka had hastily rigged one up, and the jumper's rear hatch is a half-inch open to let the cable through. The jumper clearly hates this; the HUD keeps flashing on, full of pulsating warning lights. Zelenka pats the instrument panel and mutters to the craft under his breath, as if it'll help. He still doesn't seem to be able to look Rodney in the eye. Rodney is slumped into one of the spare seats, shoulders hunched.

"I figured it'd work OK for a short trip," says Lorne.

"So is this your idea of a joke?" says John, who still hasn't laced up her shirt. She does not look pleased.

"No," says Lorne, looking a little sick. "But I think we should leave that till we get back to the city, S – er, John."

Something in his eyes must get his meaning across to John, who subsides, and falls into the remaining chair. A moment later she wriggles, and picks at her top. Rodney notices.

"Oh, this is just great," he says. "My first date with a woman in I don't know how long and her _boyfriend_ turns up, makes her feel totally uncomfortable with herself, and hey, brings my boyfriend too, just for kicks! This is over! This is so totally over! I'm never going to see you again!"

"Rodney -" says Zelenka.

"Doc-" says Lorne.

"I think I have crumbs in my shirt," says John. She pulls the neck of the brown top out and stares into her own cleavage.

Rodney, unnoticed, puts his head in his hands.


End file.
